Cupid's Got a Brand New Arrow
by LucyVanPolevault
Summary: She'd spent altogether too much time thinking about that man's skin, whether it tasted as good as it smelled. Seriously? It was summertime in Georgia, for God's sake! That man was sweating all the damned time! But now, every time she saw a bead of sweat drip down his face, neck or arms, it took every ounce of self-restraint to not tackle him to the ground and lick it off...
1. Chapter 1

**Cupid's Got a Brand New Arrow**

A/N: Rated M for Dixon mouth, which our heroine shares, as well as that good old smutty smut. Please review and let me know what you think!

Disclaimer: I own nothing but Lilly, my potty mouth and my filthy imagination. All credit for Daryl and the brilliant series goes to AMC and Robert Kirkman. Anyway, I'm certainly not making any money off this, so nothing here for any legal ferrets to worry about.

**Chapter One – Stupid Fucking Tree Branch**

Sweet Jesus, how in the hell was she going to do this? Should she just tell him? Fuck, what could she say, really? Goddammit, here we go again… Just another installment of the same angsty monologue that had been looping in Lilly's head for, what? About a week now? It was that motherfucking tree branch's fault, all pointy and sticking out, being in a place it had no right to be. But it had also been her fault. She'd backed up too quickly, not paying attention, trying to escape the reach of one of the walkers that had surprised them in the woods that fateful day. And yeah, she'd managed to get the clearance to swing her axe hard enough to take its head clean off, but that fucking branch had managed to do almost as much damage as that grasping walker would have done… And it sure as hell had done a lot more to mess her up than a deep, bloody gash to her leg…

That branch had been sharp as one of those redneck's arrows, tearing a six-inch long gash up her left thigh, ending right below her buttock. And dug so deep, the thing had bled like a motherfucker and hurt even worse. So after he had dispatched the other two walkers, he'd had to help her, right? What was he gonna do, just leave her there, bleeding like a stuck pig? But the way he had helped her, well… It had… Royally. Fucked. Her. Up. And now she was screwed… And not in the fun way…

Why the hell did his hands have to be so warm and gentle when he'd wiped away the blood? And did he really have to take his shirt off and flex those sexy as all fuck muscles as he was ripping it into strips to bind her wound? Did he have to be so fucking strong and… virile when he picked her up and carried her so quickly back to camp? Did his neck have to smell so… masculine and… downright tasty during the trip back? And seriously… Did he really have to hold her so goddamned tightly to his naked, sweaty chest while he carried her? And why on earth did that motherfucker have to hold her hand, help her breathe and speak to her in that deep, honeyed voice so…. tenderly while Hershel stitched her up? And his eyes? So unguarded and honest in that moment, so intent on her… And so fucking blue it was like a whole new color she'd discovered... And she'd spent a ridiculous amount of time trying to come up with a name for it...

Given the amount of pain she'd been in, none of that should have registered. But it had. In fact, every single second of the entire experience was tattooed on her brain. And since then, it had been all she could think about. Now, she couldn't NOT notice his hands. Every time she happened to see him, she was acutely aware of them, whether he was polishing his crossbow, carving new bolts, chewing on his thumb, even gutting a motherfucking squirrel! Every time she saw those hands of his, which was all the time now… It was like they were touching her thigh again, holding her down to keep her from moving while he stroked… okay, wiped… away the blood with the other.

And those muscles of his, there was no way in hell she could NOT notice them as they rippled, even with a goddamned shirt on. Why couldn't the fucker wear sleeves, anyway? Last week, when she'd seen him change his shirt after a particularly grimy hunting trip and, well… her legs had fucking buckled. BUCKLED, goddammit! Thank God she'd been standing in front of a chair at the time or she'd have fallen on her ass. 'Hey Lilly, why'd you fall down?' 'Oh, yeah… Sorry. Just the sight of the man's naked chest made me swoon….

And oh, Jesus… there was no way she could NOT watch him carry something heavy, like that deer he'd brought back four days ago. Or even when he'd toss that crossbow over his shoulder – and that thing was crazy heavy. Just the sight made her… queasy? No, not queasy… It made her lightheaded, if she was being honest with herself. And she'd be forced to remember, in vivid detail, how he'd so easily scooped her up and carried her the two miles back to camp, running the whole time. So now, of course, every time he moved his arms, she couldn't help imagining how it would feel to have him pick her up and throw her down on a bed… or the ground… or against a tree….

And his smell… Frankly, the man didn't bathe as often as she would have preferred. Certainly not even close to the amount of bathing she'd always demanded from the men who'd been lucky enough to feel her tongue on their body. But she'd spent altogether too much time these last two weeks thinking about that man's skin, whether it tasted as good as it smelled. Seriously? What WAS that? It was summertime in Georgia, for fuck's sake! That man was sweating all the fucking time! But now, every time she saw a bead of sweat drip down his face, neck or arms, it took every ounce of self-restraint she had to NOT tackle him down to the ground and lick it off.

And that wasn't the worst of it. The other day, the motherfucker had crept up on her like a goddamned ninja and leaned against her to get a bottle of water out of the cooler. Shouldn't be a problem, right? Certainly wouldn't have been a problem two weeks and one day ago… But as soon as she felt the weight of his chest on her hip, she couldn't NOT think about the feel of it against her as he carried her that day. And she'd shivered. And she'd blushed. And she'd dug her fingernails into the palms of her hands to keep from grabbing him and mounting him right there in the middle of camp.

They were friends, weren't they? But she'd been avoiding him like the motherfucking plague these days, trying like hell not to let him get within five feet of her. Hoping like hell it would quell these motherfucking URGES she was having all the damned time now. He had to be thinking she'd turned into a fucking psycho. Well, good thing her new five-foot distance rule didn't allow for a whole lot of conversation. And thank the good lord he didn't talk too much to the others. Because now, on the rare occasions when she heard his voice, even when he was snarling at her, she couldn't NOT hear that soft, honeyed drawl of his while he'd talked her through one of the most painful experiences of her life. That goddamned motherfucker…

They'd managed to become pretty good friends, until that fucking tree branch attacked her. She knew he was a prickly, foul-mouthed redneck. But so was she, except for the redneck part. One of the things she respected most about him was his lack of tolerance for any form of bullshit. Probably because he was like her in that respect. And the redneck was honest to a fault. No way would he even think about wasting the time or energy to throw a string of pretty words together to get his point across or make you do something for him. He said what he meant and he meant what he said. How could you not admire that about a person? And he was kind, too, underneath the caustic, irritable front he liked to fool everyone with. Hell, he'd been the one who'd found her in town, helped her fight off a sizeable pack of walkers and invited her back to his camp. The first time he'd saved her ass. The first of many…

She liked him as a person, goddammit! They'd shared stories, laughed at one another's jokes… And she knew he liked her too. And the man didn't like many people, so that said a LOT. Not to mention, he'd let her move into his tent that first night, for fuck's sake! All it had taken was a few pulls of moonshine, a shared appreciation for the band Whiskeytown and a cigarette, and the socially-stunted loner had let her share his private space. Wow, good thing there was no danger of him ever ending up in prison… Showing that kind of compassion would get him in all kinds of trouble... Whatever. Allowing others to share his space was bizarrely out of character for him. It had certainly shocked everyone else around camp. And while she was pretty certain he would have loved to have his tent back, particularly after those couple of times he woke up all embarrassed to find his morning wood saying howdy to her ass, he hadn't kicked her out. Leaving him a cigarette on his pillow every night probably helped…

But after the motherfucking tree branch incident, staying in his tent had become untenable. Hershel had made her stay in the farmhouse that first night because of her stitches. But the next night had been agony… She hadn't slept a fucking wink. Couldn't keep her mind from obsessing over his hands, his naked chest, his smell, his voice… She'd had to keep stretching her leg, straining her stitches and silently screaming through the pain, just to keep from rolling over to his side of the tent and having her way with him. Jesus, that was one of the most excruciating experiences of her life, even more than the stabbing from that motherfucking tree branch.

After that night, she knew she had to put some distance between them. So she'd begged Maggie to let her sleep on her bedroom floor and tossed that lame excuse to him about it being too hot to sleep in his tent. Why on earth hadn't she put more thought into that? Maggie's room was on the second floor and it was like a goddamned sauna up there! As soon as she'd said it, he'd looked at her like she was crazy… Then heartbroken, quickly covered by a veil of 'fuck off, bitch.' He knew how hot Maggie's room got. Hell, that was the excuse she'd given everyone as to why she snuck out to sleep in Glenn's tent every night. So he knew she'd been lying. He just didn't know why.

He thought they were friends. And then she tosses him some lame excuse as to why she couldn't sleep in his tent anymore? And then avoids him like the plague after he saved her life? No wonder he was hurt. Not like he'd ever tell her that his feelings were hurt. No, not that defensive son of a bitch. He'd just shut down on her. Taking every opportunity he could to let her know that he didn't give a fuck about her vanishing act. That hell no, he didn't miss her. But she knew better. She knew he was hurt. And she felt like a fucking coward. And a liar. And a bitch for hurting the one person who had become, if she was truly honest with herself, her best friend in the world.

So that was why she was here. Back in his tent. Listening to him glare at her. It hadn't been easy. She'd spent the last two days building up her courage and planning her strategy. Taken a shower with her new roommate's best-smelling stuff, shaved her legs and used lotion. She'd actually taken time with her hair, letting it air dry and hang loose around her shoulders. Even borrowed one of Maggie's sundresses, ignoring the woman's wide eyes and deflecting her questions. Just praying that all this girlie stuff would force him to act like a gentleman, keep him from wringing her neck before she had a chance to say her peace. And maybe… Make her irresistible? Make him realize that he was insanely attracted to the hot piece of ass who'd been treating him like a leper for the last two weeks?

She'd waited until they'd doused the campfire and everyone went to bed before sneaking across the yard and barging into his tent. Bold as all fuck, that was her. Just unzipped the flap and scooted right on in, ignoring his scowl and "what the fuck?"

She held up the pack of Marlboros and bottle of Jack Daniels she'd managed to hunt down during yesterday's run into town with Glenn. "Peace offering." Tension seizing every muscle in her body because she knew there was no way he was going accept anything from her without a fight.

"Fuck you. Leave it and get the fuck out." His signature scowl, amped up to ten just for her, was plastered across his face.

She steeled herself. "Nope. You want my peace offering, I get to stay. It's called etiquette, you redneck fuck."

Now the sneer… "Ain't it too hot in her for you, princess? Get your ass back to your tower."

She steeled herself. "If you don't want to talk, that's fine. But if I leave, these are going with me."

He was looking at her, but it was hard to read his expression in the dim light given off by his battery-powered lantern. It was either 'I'll just get wrecked and ignore her until she leaves' or ' Let's see if she has the guts to explain why she's been acting like such a fucking bitch.' Probably both. But she was able to read his glare loud and clear as he snatched the bottle out of her hand, twisted off the cap and guzzled about two shots. She let out her breath, glad to know she'd been right about him not being able to turn down the booze. She grabbed the bottle back from him and guzzled as much as she could in one go, coughing as the burn raced down her throat.

And so it went. The bottle passed back and forth. Cigarettes lit and smoke blown through the side flaps of the tent. And not a single fucking word. Just the overwhelming heat of his anger and her crippling anxiety. With faint whiffs of crushing insecurity, which was definitely hers. But she now had a good buzz. And it seemed help her relax just enough to remain in that silent, toxic stew. And being with him again, after so long, was forcing her to confront the reason she was here, back in his tent, trying to make things right. That she missed her best friend and was trying her damnedest to figure out how to tell him the truth. That, since the tree branch incident, she… Well, if she was going to tell him the truth, it had to be the unvarnished truth. No context, no reasons, no explanations. He wouldn't care about any of that. He'd want the straight truth… And that was… Well… She wanted him. Yes. That was it. Now that she was forced to simplify it like that, really, what other way could she put it to him?

Should she just say it? Straight out? "I want you." Or should she show him? By leaning over, right now, and kissing him... The way she'd been wanting to kiss him for two weeks now. Well, on second thought… She'd scare the hell out of him if she just leaned over and laid that kind of kiss on him right out of the gate. But she could kiss him, couldn't she? What would he do? Push her off and kick her out of his tent? Confess that he wanted her as badly as she wanted him? And then the heavens would open up and the angels sing… He was much more likely to pull the guy card and take what she was offering because, well, he had a dick… But then get all weird tomorrow. Which would leave them in even worse shape than they were now. Because now, at least, he could blame her, Lilly the bipolar bitch. But if it got awkward, well… It would be awkward. Because he'd feel guilty about sleeping with her because it was convenient.

Goddammit! She wasn't going to do this anymore. It was time to get off this fucking merry-go-round and make a move. And stop drinking, because the bottle was half empty now and she needed to dismount without breaking her fucking neck.

Lilly took the bottle, capped it and set it aside. She tossed her cigarette out of the side flap. And tried to shut off her brain as she leaned over and kissed Daryl Dixon.

A/N: Please review. Before I published my first story, I didn't get why so many authors begged for feedback. But now I get it. Without it, it's like dropping a little piece of your soul down a deep well and waiting in vain for it to hit the bottom... Sniff...


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Be warned, smutty smut coming up, mixed with a bit of the angsty angst. And when I say smutty, I mean if you're under the age of 18, your God, parents and any authority figure you're scared of will instantly be able to read every single filthy word you've read on your face kind of smutty. But if you're over the age of 18 and that's what you're into, welcome.

UPDATE: For those of you who've read this before, I've corrected a few typos, changed the wording in a few places, and reworked the part right before she pulls up the dress. Nothing major, though.

Guest and Sandy: Thanks for your reviews! Hearing stuff like that makes me want to dive back into the story. You and everyone else who took the time to leave reviews are awesome! Hell, anyone who took the time to read my stuff is awesome!

Disclaimer: I own nothing but Lilly, my potty mouth and my filthy imagination. All credit for Daryl and the brilliant series goes to AMC and Robert Kirkman. Anyway, I'm certainly not making any money off this, so nothing here for any legal ferrets to worry about.

**Chapter Two – Truth or Dare**

The kiss she gave Daryl was a soft one. Slow, tentative, a little bit searching, and lasting all of about three seconds. With absolutely no response from him whatsoever. Lilly sat back and tried her damnedest to read the man's expression. Nothing. It was utterly blank. At least from what she could see in the dim light in the tent... But as the pause stretched out into a downright uncomfortable silence, his expression started to reveal a bit of shock. Fuck… Was that a scowl she was seeing now?

"I'm sorry," she blurted out. She leaned over, burying her face in her arms, trying to hide her face.

"What are you sorry about?" Daryl spat out. "That you kissed me? Or that you've been a total fucking bitch to me for the last two weeks?"

"That I've been such a bitch." She still couldn't look at him.

"Why?" He didn't sound angry. That was good, at least.

Lilly was still too afraid to meet his eyes. If she did, there was no way she'd be able to explain herself. She raked her fingers through her hair, trying like hell to pull herself together and find the words to answer him. But how the hell was she going to do that? Until now, she hadn't put any thought into how she would answer the most obvious question, now had she? Because she was a dumb fuck, that's why. She finally summoned the courage to look at him and was stunned to see that he didn't look pissed off anymore, just puzzled. Daryl had been angry at her for what seemed like forever. Pretty much every time she'd caught him looking at her over the last two weeks, she had been met with animosity. And, sad to say, she'd gotten used to it... But now, it was gone, freeing her to find the words to answer him. "Things changed for me and I didn't know how to handle it. I freaked out."

He didn't respond. He just sat there looking at her with those freakishly intense blue eyes. Good lord, his eyes were beautiful. Just why the hell was he looking at her like that, anyway? Did he have any idea what kind of effect it was having on her?

"Kiss me again." Just a statement. Like it was the third time he'd asked the waitress to bring him a glass of water.

Now she was freaked out. And shocked. And very, very aware of him staring at her with those motherfucking eyes of his… What in the hell did he mean by that? If he wanted another kiss, why didn't he just come over and take it? She'd certainly made it pretty clear that she wouldn't slap him like a prissy debutante. Maybe he just wanted to make her work harder for his forgiveness?

Hmmmm… She could do that… And hell, it was another opportunity to kiss those tasty lips of his. She moved closer and knelt in front of Daryl, reached out and gently stroked the back of his neck with one hand, then cupped his cheek with her other as she leaned in and gently brushed his lips with hers. Again, but with a bit more pressure. And again, slightly more pressure, ending with a feathery slip of her tongue to his bottom lip. Oh, yeah. That was a shiver… Yup, he shivered… The zombie apocalypse hadn't taken the game out of this girl…

"Again." Still no expression in his voice.

She was feeling a bit more confident now. "Are you gonna kiss me back this time?"

"Dunno. Inspire me…" His voice was still blank, but she caught a flash of a smirk in his eyes.

Lilly chuckled. So that was how he wanted to play this… That was okay. She could do this, no problem. No way he'd be able to resist her for much longer. The next kiss she had planned for him was going to melt both him and his twisted, yet strangely sexy scheme to make her pay for being such a bitch. She leaned in to Daryl and slid her arms over his shoulders until her elbows were resting on his shoulders, her arms crossed behind his head, her fingers buried in his shaggy hair. And her breasts firmly pressed against his chest. My God, it felt so good to be this close to him… She laid a soft kiss on his temple, slowly brushed her cheek down the side of his, the edge of her lips dusting the side of his face… The feel of his stubble against her skin was delicious… The smell of leather and sweat and… whatever the hell else that was uniquely Daryl was making her feel all swoony… She continued, gliding her lips along his jawline and up, tilting her head and dragging her bottom lip until they were right there… Seeking, deepening…

Oh, there he was … kissing her back now, his hands tightly gripping her back and neck, pulling her into him. Pressure and softness, heat and wetness. Sweeping tongues and fervent lips… This… This… This was what she had wanted for so long… She could live in this kiss for the rest of her life… Jesus, the feel of his lips, so soft and hard at the same time, so hot they were melting hers into submission… And the feel of his tongue, insistent, dominating, taking possession of her mouth… Yes… He was thorough. And relentless. He wanted her mouth and she wanted him to have it… Take all of it… Take my lips, take my mouth, take my breath… I want you to have them. Just give me yours… Dear lord….

Daryl pushed her back onto the tangle of his blankets, one hand supporting her back so she wouldn't fall, the other on her ass, pulling her up so that she could unfurl her legs and make room for him. She moaned softly into his mouth as she felt the weight of him push her onto her back, the length of his body, its heat, its hardness blanketing hers. Yes… Closer… Still hopelessly lost in his mouth, his lips, his tongue… But needing to be closer still, bring him into her… She hooked one knee around his hip and pulled herself closer. Oh, Jesus… She could feel him right there… pressing into her thigh… so unbelievably hard…

Lilly shifted until that delicious hardness was right there…. She squeezed her thigh around him and pushed up… And gasped at the feeling of him as he met her, thrusting into her with an urgency that set her blood on fire… The sound of him as he groaned, "good God, Lilly…" into her mouth sent all that fire straight to the pit of her stomach, triggering a deep pulsing ache…

Suddenly, he pulled out of their kiss, panting into her neck, hot, damp breath bathing her skin. He took several breaths, then raised himself up to look down at her, blue eyes blazing, looking like they could catch on fire at any second. "Why are you jumping my bones like this when I'm so fucking pissed at you?" he whispered, the exasperation evident in his voice.

"I was scared… I didn't know how…" Wait… She was not going to talk about this now! You don't ask a woman suffering from severe dehydration to start talking about her thirst while she's guzzling a bottle of fucking Gatorade! She groaned, "Jesus Christ, just shut up and kiss me!" as she wrapped her other leg around his waist and squeezed, pulling him into her. And he did. Boy, did that man kiss her... She was helpless and she didn't want any help. She was drowning and she loved the water. She was breathless and she hated air. She just wanted him. On her… In her… More…

He reached behind him and grabbed her thighs, pulling them higher, and pushed himself deep… Fuck… That sweet hardness was making her insane… She rolled her hips, meeting each of Daryl's thrusts, as she reached for the bottom of his shirt, pulling it up so that she could reach his skin. God, the feel of him, his muscles… She pushed the fabric up to reach more skin, whimpering when he pulled away to reach behind him and yank the shirt over his head. Oh, yes… She had a backstage pass to those muscles now and she couldn't keep her hands off them, roaming, kneading, stroking… She never wanted to take her hands off of him...

His lips were on her shoulder now… Lilly could feel his lips, his teeth… Oh, good lord, now his tongue was sweeping up her neck, his lips had found her earlobe, his teeth gently biting now… The sound of his breath panting in her ear… Oh, and his hands… There they were, dragging the straps of her dress down, forcing her to take her hands off of him as he continued to pull the straps down her arms until they were free… Oh… Yes… Now his lips were moving down her chest, his tongue sweeping just inside the lace edging of her bra… Oh… my… God… His mouth on her nipple, lips sucking, teeth teasing through the satin… Sweet Jesus… don't stop… Right there… Yes…. Lilly groaned deeply, from a place so deep in her throat she didn't recognize it as her own… "Fuck… Daryl… Please…" She arched her back as he reached behind her back to unclasp her bra, then pulled it off. Free now, she reached up to rake her fingers through his hair and pull him back down, pushing her breast into his mouth.

His lips and tongue were teasing her nipple again, triggering a violent shiver… What on earth was he doing to her? Oh, Jesus fuck…. He'd replaced his mouth with his hand, rolling the hard nub between his fingers, and moved his mouth to her other breast. Lilly moaned, "Daryl…" at the feel of his lips sucking, tongue flicking… Gasped as the feel of his teeth grazing her nipple pulled a river of current out of her chest, straight into the pool of heat growing in her belly.

She was writhing now, had no idea how to contain the shivery currents racing between her breasts and her hot, gooey center other than to lock her ankles around his hips and pull him into her as deeply as she could… Jesus, the feel of his cock, that exquisite hardness, as it pushed into her… Nothing on earth had ever felt so good… Good God… She needed to feel him, needed to touch him…

Lilly snaked her hand between their bodies and glided her fingers just below his waistband, skimming the tip of his cock. She felt him as he groaned, "Jeeesusss…" the sound echoing against her skin and setting her blood on fire… She reached deeper, felt him freeze and his stomach muscles contract as she found his shaft… Hot, silky, heavy and oh, so hard… She inhaled sharply as she wrapped her fingers around him and slid them down his length, increasing the pressure in her grip as she approached the base, releasing the pressure as she came back up, stopping at the head to massage the drop of moisture she'd found at the tip. A sound emerged from deep within him, a sound that couldn't decide if it wanted to be a whimper or a groan…

She suddenly realized that he'd stopped moving… stopped breathing. In one quick motion, he pushed himself off of her, reached down to yank her hand out of his pants and rolled onto his back, pulling deep breaths into his lungs and pushing them out of his pursed lips. After about the fifth breath, she heard him mutter, "I didn't just go through two weeks of bitch hell to come in my pants…"

Daryl was still pissed. Undoubtedly. Understandably. The realization drove Lilly to pull her arms up and cross them over her head, nails digging into her elbow, and take several deep breaths of her own. After about a minute, her pulse slowed, the insane urge to touch him quelled for the moment… She suddenly felt exposed and pulled up her dress so it covered her breasts. "I am a bitch. I don't blame you for hating me…."

"Jesus Christ, Lilly, I don't hate you… Whole thing is still fucked up and it's gonna take me a while to get over being pissed… But I think I get it…" He paused for a few moments before speaking again, this time in a hoarse whisper. "It was that day your leg got cut, right?"

She felt him shift and roll over on his side to face her. She opened her eyes, turned her head and saw him looking at her, his eyes flickering with something… Concern? Tenderness, maybe? She suddenly felt like crying. Not wanting him to see her tears, knowing it would stop this honest moment in its tracks, she squeezed her eyes shut and inhaled deeply, before opening them again and rolling onto her side to face him. She grabbed his hand with both of her own and nodded, knowing there was no way she would be able to squeeze any words through the tightness in her throat.

"I thought you shut me down… Because… Because I… Whatever…" Daryl's voice trailed off as he turned his head to stare at the roof of the tent for a moment before turning back to her, silent, with an expression that pleaded with her to give him the words to finish his sentence.

"I've already established that I'm a dumbass, Daryl. I don't understand what you're saying…" She hoped like hell he couldn't hear the tears in her voice.

He took a deep breath. Then another as he turned to look up at the tent's roof again. "When you were gushing blood out there in the woods, when that walker almost got you… I fucking lost it. I…." He took a deep breath and exhaled before continuing. "Fuck… I can't do this shit, Lilly…"

"You think I'm any better at this stuff?" Lilly laughed. She couldn't help it. The mere idea of him looking to her for help was ridiculous.

Daryl snorted before continuing, "yeah… I guess you're right." He stopped for a few moments, pressing his lips together, before speaking again. In fits and starts, obviously frustrated with his inability to express himself. "I hated having you in my tent. You know that? So many times I just wanted you gone. But I wanted you there, at the same time. And then I just got used to it…"

"Used to what?"

He gestured at her in an exasperated manner. "Wanting this. You. You, naked…"

Ohhhhh… Lilly suddenly didn't feel like crying anymore. He'd been wanting her? Like she wanted him? She felt like a moron... She hadn't realized all that had been going on with him... But wait a second. How on earth could she have known? Because if Daryl Dixon didn't want you to know what he was thinking, there was no way in hell you'd ever figure out. He'd certainly never given her any indication... Hell, other than giving her privacy when she went to the bathroom in the woods and those two mornings when she'd woken up to his morning glory, Daryl had always treated her like a guy!

And honestly, she didn't know how she would have responded if he had tried anything before the fucking tree branch incident. Until then, she hadn't thought about him like that. Sure, occasionally, she had noticed something about Daryl that struck her as objectively attractive. But living in constant fear for her life didn't make a woman feel all that sexy.

Probably had something to do with Maslow's hierarchy of needs… She'd been too consumed with shelter, food and keeping her flesh out of the teeth of those goddamned corpses to think of anything else. Once all hell had broken loose, the most she'd allowed herself to hope for were people who'd have her back and, if she was lucky, a few laughs to soften the constant strain of having to fight for survival. So, basically, it had taken a near-death experience to make her realize that she needed something more?

More what? More sex? But this all-consuming _need_ wasn't just about his dick. It wasn't just about scratching an itch... This... thing with Daryl was more than just... Shit. She was putting too much thought into this. Time to crack a joke. "So… You're saying you wanted… This?" Lilly grinned and pulled down her dress, exposing one breast. "Or did you want both?" She bared her other breast. "Or did you want the whole enchilada?" She bared both breasts, then started to pull her dress down farther.

Did Daryl just growl at her? Yup. He just growled at her. And he just yanked her dress up too! Fucker… "Stop distracting me, woman. I'm trying to make a fucking point. I wanted the whole enchilada, but I knew you didn't want that from me. At least I didn't think you wanted that from me…" his voice trailed off. He paused before shooting her a scowl, then continued in an exasperated voice. "What the hell do you want from me? You need to tell me, because I'm fucking sick and tired of trying to figure out what's going on in that head of yours."

Fuck… Called on her bullshit. She owed it to him to suck it up and tell him. Lilly took a deep breath and forced herself to look at him, hoping it would keep her honest. "I… I don't know how I felt about you before... that fucking tree branch stabbed me." His eyes narrowed. "But after, well… I guess I figured it out. In the most histrionic way possible, I guess… But I figured it out." She nodded to emphasize her point, before continuing. "But honestly? I don't know… what I would have done if you'd tried to kiss me or anything like that before that day. I very well could have freaked out on you. I just wasn't thinking about any of that kind of stuff. It was too… Impractical? Not something I had the energy to think about." Daryl pressed his lips together and nodded.

She looked down at her hand, now pressed against his chest, before raising her eyes to look at him again. She was about to tell him what happened that day and she needed to make sure he understood her. "But that day…" She shrugged. "Something shifted that day. The way you were with me… the way you touched me…. It was like you suddenly became this new person for me." She frowned and shook her head. "No, wait… That's not right. You were the same – I was the one who changed… And it felt like it came out of nowhere, at least it felt that way. And suddenly, everything was different for me, and I couldn't shake it. I thought that if I got some distance… But really, I was just a fucking coward. It was easier to stay away from you, to hurt you, than to let you know what was going on with me."

Daryl looked at her for a moment, eyes narrowed and lips pressed tightly together, obviously taking in what she'd just told him, before reaching over and slowly dragging his fingers through a wayward lock of hair. He started to play with it, eyes intently focused on his thumb, his index finger and the hair he was twisting between them. Then he started to speak, a flood of words, his voice low and gravelly... And the most Lilly had ever heard him say at one time. "Yeah… It all changed then, huh… Just seeing you bleeding like that, not knowing what to do… I'd gotten so good at ignoring it… But then it all came out… How much I… I wanted you. I was sure you saw it all. And I thought I scared you off. And I was pissed at you for not wanting the same thing. And I was pissed at myself for letting you see it. And then you couldn't get out of my tent fast enough… And you wouldn't even look at me… And I thought you hated me and wanted me to fuck off and die… And I'm PISSED at Jack Daniels for making me talk like a fucking idiot…"

Lilly scooted towards him and cut him off with a soft kiss, then leaned back a bit, just looking at him, trying to reconcile the man who'd just said all this with the irascible redneck who'd never met a conversation about 'feelings' that he didn't want to bludgeon with a sneer or smother with a scowl. "I'm developing a fondness for Mr. Daniels," she said with a smirk. She started to run her fingers through the hair on his chest. "I had no idea this was going on with you. I was just so worried that I couldn't be that same person for you, the one you could go hunting with… crack jokes with… I thought that if I got some distance, I could go back to being that person for you. But it didn't work. And then I realized… that I was hurting my best friend," her voice cracked. "And I missed you."

His eyes were so kind, so open, so intent on her words… She reached up and gently ran her finger along the edge of his bottom lip, her voice shaking. "But I also ached for you… I…. I ache for you…." Her eyes felt wet, but she didn't care if Daryl saw her tears. She was brave now.

A/N – I don't know if I was able to get this across, but I really wanted to make it crystal clear that Lilly is a bit of an emotional cripple. And I loved the idea of having Daryl be the one who needs to clear the air, upending the standard scene that involves "getting Daryl to talk about his feelings." Not that I'm knocking that. I adore Daryl as the relationship novice when it's done well…

And fasten your seatbelts, folks! The REALLY smutty stuff is coming up in the next chapter!


	3. Chapter 3

A/N – Sorry it's taken me so long to post this chapter. My original plan to write the whole story from Lilly's point of view was kicking my ass from here to next Tuesday. Everything I came up with just made me cringe. All serious smut, with none of the funny – which just seemed way off, given the flow of the first two chapters. So I listened to my muse – who's a cocktease, by the way – and she told me that I needed to lock Lilly in a closet and play with Daryl for a while.. Hmmmm… playing with Daryl… And yes. Our favorite redneck is just as much fun to play with as you think he'd be. Actually, more. I had a blast writing him and that's probably why this chapter just FLOWED – like walker ooze leaking out of a good stab to the eye. Except for the verb tenses. They were a pain in my ass… Anyway, I hope you like what I came up with – I sure do.

And thanks for your kind reviews, everyone. They gave me a nice little ego boost just when I really needed some motivation to keep from bailing on the story. Now that I'm writing my own fics, I understand how important reviews are. And it's not just an ego thing. Each one is like a drip from an IV antibiotic, helping fend off the insecurity that silences my muse. That's my hyperbolic way of letting you know that each one of your reviews, follows and favorites mean the world to me. So, again. Thank you.

Disclaimer: I own nothing but Lilly, my potty mouth and my filthy imagination. All credit for Daryl and the brilliant series goes to AMC and Robert Kirkman. Anyway, I'm certainly not making any money off this, so nothing here for any legal ferrets to worry about.

**Chapter Three – Blind Alleys and Second Guesses **

Goddammit. He was so fucking pissed… Fuck her… Seriously. Fuck. Her! Lying to him just so she could get out of his tent? Treating him like he didn't exist? After he'd saved her fucking _life_? Fuck her! He could feel the rage building again, so he lit another cigarette and took another drink – a big one. Trying to pull his shit together before he went ahead and did something stupid. Like telling the girl exactly what he thought of her and her fucking lies… Before tossing that bottle, the cigarettes and her bitch ass out of his fucking tent…

He felt a bit calmer now. And he could hold off a little while longer. Long enough to hear what Lilly had to say for herself. And she sure as shit had something to say… Otherwise, why would she have barged into his tent, waving that 'peace offering' in his face? Yeah, she knew he was a junkie whore who couldn't turn down booze and nicotine. But did she really think it was gonna soften him up? Make him accept her apology? That they were gonna be buddies again? After the shit she pulled? _Fuck_ her!

There she was, just sitting there… Working up her nerve. Squirming… Good. Keep squirming. Not all night, because he wanted to get this over with. Wanted to throw that fucking apology back in her fucking face and go the fuck to sleep. So he'd give her another half hour. But that was it. After that, she was gonna see a whole new level of pissed off.

He'd been so fucking pissed off for the last two weeks, he didn't know any other way to be. And, if he was being honest with himself, he was just as pissed at himself. If not more… Goddammit! He'd broken all his rules. Let her into his personal zone, let her get too close, let her mess with his Zen… And she'd fucked him over. Just like people always do. _Always_. But that didn't mean he was gonna whine about getting his _feelings_ hurt like some pussy bitch. Nope. After he threw that apology back in her face, he was gonna sack up, learn from it and move the fuck on. Because, bottom line, he should have known better. He should have known that this was gonna happen.

So why hadn't he? Why hadn't he seen this coming? He'd thought a lot about that. And come to realize that the whole thing with Lilly was like a bunch of guys slowly backing him into a blind alley... And before he knows it, they're ganging up on him, giving him the beatdown of his life. One guy, who just so happened to be walking in the same direction, nothing to worry about… Another one, looking kind of shifty, nothing he couldn't handle… The third guy, looking straight at him… Then the fourth, coming right for him… Only then does he look around and find that there's no way out. He's trapped. He's fucked.

Correction. He was fucked… Laying ass-down on the concrete with the motherfucking shit kicked out of him… Because he hadn't been paying attention. He'd let Lilly get under his skin. Get inside his head. And she'd fucked him up.

And it wasn't because she was pretty. Sure, he'd noticed that right off the bat. That long, red, curly hair of hers… Pretty blue eyes… Pale, freckly skin that made him think of peaches – and he loved peaches… A bit skinny, but a tight little body and legs that went on for fucking days… And that smell of hers – kind of herbal, mixed with something a little bit sweet… Vanilla, maybe? Whatever it was, she smelled good. But hell, the world is full of… Well, it _was_ full of pretty girls that smelled good. Didn't mean he wanted to fuck them. Andrea was pretty, and she probably smelled good too, but there was no way he'd fuck her. He'd always been good at ignoring that shit, anyway. It was a point of pride, in fact. He'd never let a piece of pussy mess with his Zen before, and he sure as hell hadn't planned on letting Lilly's be the first. Particularly with all the other fucked up shit he had to worry about.

So it wasn't the way Lilly looked or smelled, exactly. It was something else. More like a series of fucked up little moments that piled up on him. Moments when something would shift and he'd see her in a different way. Just a flash, a passing thought… And then he'd brush it off and go back to thinking about her like he always had. Until he couldn't anymore.

It had started with stupid, trifling things. Obvious things. Like that time he'd taken her out hunting, three or so days after he'd first brought her back to camp. The last thing he'd wanted was company, particularly from some girl he barely knew. But she'd bribed him with three cigarettes and he'd given in like the junkie whore she'd turned him into. Anyway, they'd come across this stream and Lilly had bent down to scoop up some water to wash her face and cool off. Nothing out of the ordinary. He'd been about to do the same thing, in fact. Until he got an eyeful that stopped him dead in his tracks. Holy fucking Jesus, the way those shorts rode up the crack of her ass… Her thighs, all smooth and taut… And one of those flashes had popped into his head… Of taking her from behind, just fucking the shit out of her like a jackhammer... Which, of course, meant he'd popped an instant boner. Which twitched and almost jumped out of his pants when she stood up with that satisfied grin on her face… Water dripping down her face, her neck… into that white tank top…

He hadn't been ashamed of his reaction, at least not after he'd broken up the party in his pants and reassured himself that she'd been none the wiser. Hell, that sight would have pitched a tent in any man's pants. So he'd brushed it off. He was a healthy, red-blooded man… Lilly had a fine ass… He hadn't been able to jerk off since she'd schemed her way into his tent… So he'd pushed it aside and resolved never to look at her ass again. And later on, after dinner, he'd strolled into the woods and taken matters into his own hands. So to speak.

Same thing with the way she felt the need to stretch first thing every morning, giving him an eyeful of those gorgeous tits of hers. Just the right size, with pointy nipples sharp enough to poke holes through that ratty t-shirt she slept in. The first time he'd seen her do that, he'd had another one of those flashes. This time of his face buried in her tits, her nipples in his mouth, her moaning… And he'd handled it the same way. He was a healthy man and Lilly had a nice set of tits. He'd find a little quiet time in the woods and make sure to stay clear during her morning stretch. It was no big deal and he was moving on.

Now, that time when she'd been painting her toenails some god-awful orange color, contorting her legs into that weird position… While he'd just sat there, gawping at her while pretending to look at a map… And that other time, when he'd gotten weirdly pissed off at that little curl that escaped her bun, how it got to kiss the back of her neck when he couldn't… Maybe he had some kind of latent foot fetish and hell, he'd always liked a pretty neck. Regardless, he'd just made a point not to look at those body parts anymore. Problem solved. Easy.

The honey incident was different. That one hadn't been so easy to come back from. They were friends by then, so it wasn't like he could have avoided looking at her face. He'd had no idea how much trouble he was in for when he overheard Lilly talking to Maggie about Tupelo honey, how she loved it more than chocolate. So farmer's daughter had to go ahead and give her a little jar from last season's harvest. Later that night, she'd torn into the stuff and… well… she'd basically fellated that honey right in front of him! Holy fuck… He'd never known that it was possible to suck off a condiment. Until he saw her do it, that is. The way she'd licked that spoon… All kinds of slow… Her cheeks hollowed out… The pop when she pulled the spoon out of her mouth… There was no way a heterosexual man... Hell, even a homo, could have watched that spectacle and not imagined it was his dick. And any man who could? Well, he didn't deserve to have a dick.

And that look on her face… Like she'd been on the verge of the most private orgasm ever. Thank God her eyes had been closed so she hadn't seen him pull his jacket over his lap. Or his face as the perviest of pervy thoughts swirled around his pervy little brain, wondering if that was what she looked like when she masturbated… Which, of course, had led to a number of other questions. Namely, whether or not, when, where, how and how often she masturbated…

When Lilly had offered him a spoonful, cornflower blue eyes all wide and innocent, pointy little tongue darting out to catch the bit that had smeared the corner of her mouth… All he'd been able to do was sputter, "don't like the stuff," before hightailing it out of the tent like his dick was on fire. Because it had been. He'd stalked around those woods for a good hour trying to figure out if she'd been fucking with him on purpose, before coming to the conclusion that the girl was clueless. First of all, she was too ballsy and in-your-face to pull something that sneaky on him. And anyway, she'd been his friend back then – and a friend wouldn't deliberately give him the most painful erection of his life. But now, he wasn't so sure… Maybe she had done it on purpose. Regardless, the whole experience had been a motherfucking cocktease. Even after he'd jerked off, he'd still been too keyed up to go back to camp, taking out the rest of his sexual frustration out on those three walkers. By stabbing them in the head! God, you people are sick…

But all that had been pretty straightforward. Basic, fifth-grade sex-ed stuff. Healthy male plus pretty female equals increased blood flow to the penis. No big deal. Until she got inside his head and fucked with his Zen. Like that time they'd traded stories about how they'd popped their cherries. And the flash of pure, burning rage he'd felt after she told him about the asshole who got to her first. Going in dry, causing her a hell of a lot more pain than necessary, and bragging about it at school the next day. But chances are that the asshole had already died a painful death. So why had he wanted to hunt the fucker down to make sure of it? And why the flash of panic when she told him about her old boyfriend, Colin? And the relief as she told him she'd seen the guy taken down by a walker? By her account, he sounded like a pretty decent guy. Maybe because the name 'Colin' made him think of some suit-wearing, Bieber-haired asswipe who worked in an office, liked to talk about his 'feelings' and played Ultimate Frisbee in his spare time?

Nope. If he was being honest with himself, that wasn't it. Somehow, when he wasn't paying attention, Lilly had turned him into a jealous tool. Like that time he saw Shane checking out her ass. And it was a fine ass. An ass to which he had absolutely no claim. An ass that any healthy, red-blooded man would gawk at. So there was no logical reason as to why he should hate the man so much, right? So why was it that every time that asshole so much as talked to her, even looked at her. Even now… He imagined one of his bolts sticking out of the middle of the fucker's forehead? And it's not like Lilly even liked the guy. She always called him the 'douchiest of douchebags.' She'd even made up a little song about his, Lori and Rick's 'arrangement,' sung to the tune of the theme song for that old TV show, Three's Company. Damn… That girl had a fucked up sense of humor. Used to make him laugh so hard, even brought tears to his eyes a couple of times... Merle would love her. He wouldn't care that she was a fucking bitch…

But even the jealousy stuff hadn't been a big deal. He'd brushed it off, rationalized it as some kind of primal, caveman instinct triggered by the shrinking pool of available women. Combined with the fact that he'd wanted to protect her. She _was_ a girl. And she'd been a pretty good friend too.

Before she'd fucked him over, Lilly had been the best friend he'd ever had. And that still surprised the hell out of him. First of all, she was a girl. And most girls were a pain in the ass. And second, he'd never put much stock in friendship. Of course, there had been a few guys he'd meet at the bar or joke around with at work, and he supposed he would have called them friends. But as a general rule, he preferred his own company. Because people sucked. Being by yourself simplified things, meant you never had to figure out someone's angle, wait for them to put one over on you, or fuck you in the ass when you dropped the soap. He should have remembered that…

But even if they weren't friends anymore, Lilly still knew him inside out. Something about her – maybe the girl thing – had made him feel comfortable telling her shit he'd never told another living soul. Even after learning shit he'd been sure would send her screaming into the woods, like all that fucked up shit with his family… Even after hearing about all that, she'd seemed to like him fine. Hell, she'd once told him that he was, "better than all the pansy-ass motherfuckers around camp put together." That was the nicest thing anybody ever said to him. Ever. He'd liked hearing that more than he would ever admit… And he'd believed her at the time. But now? There was no way she meant that. Because if she had, she wouldn't have fucked him over.

For a while there, she'd even found a way to make him look at himself differently. It was kind of creepy how she'd managed to get in his head and rearrange shit like she had… Like making him think that he wasn't as fucked in the head as he'd thought he was. That his particular brand of fucked in the head didn't mean he was fucked up, generally speaking, so he only deserved fucked up things... More like he had this fucked up filter in his brain that only made him _think_ he was fucked up and only deserved fucked up things… Fuck… Every time he stepped out of his fucked up head to think about it, he got a fucking headache… So he didn't anymore.

He was also thinking about that time she'd caught him changing his shirt and her reaction to her scars. She hadn't freaked out. Hadn't looked disgusted or given him those pity eyes. Seemed to accept them, like they weren't the only things she saw when she looked at him. She'd actually told him that they were part of him. That he was stronger than them, stronger because of them… Of course, he'd told her to fuck off and that she didn't know shit. But he'd thought on what she said. A lot. Even started to believe it. Started to not feel so self-conscious. But now? He figured she'd just put her game face on. Acted like his back wasn't the most disgusting thing she ever saw. And said all that shit because she felt bad for him…

It was just easier to forget everything she'd ever told him. Because she was full of shit. She'd run a game on him, making him think she was honest, same as him. Someone who stepped up and owned their shit, owned their words. So he'd believed her. Felt comfortable telling her all that shit. Felt like he could talk to her about anything, really. No need to pussyfoot around her because she knew that telling a person something straight up, no mixer or chaser, was a sign of respect. And it had been nice not having to watch every single word he said because she might take it wrong and get her feelings hurt. Not needing to analyze every single thing she said for hidden stuff. But now? He doubted every single thing she'd ever told him. Hated that she knew all that shit about him. Wished he'd kept his distance…

He looked at her out of the corner of his eye. Still sitting there. Squirming. Figuring out how she'd apologize. Well, whatever she came up with, there was no way he'd buy it. He trusted her just about as far as he could throw her. Which he might do when it came time to kick her out of his tent. Wait… She just tossed out her cigarette… Capped the bottle… She was gearing up for it… and looking really nervous. Good. Wait… What was she doing…

Did she just kiss him?

What the _fuck_?

A/N – I told you my muse was a cocktease, didn't I? I know I promised you the smutty smut but she thinks you're too eager and need to wait a bit. It is coming, though. I promise. And at least some of it will be in Daryl's POV, which I always find to be rather titillating. If you like that sort of thing, check out my Patsy Cline piece, which contains several chapters of Daryl's first-person stream of consciousness. And let me know what you think! Did you have as much reading this as I did writing it? Remember, reviews are important, particularly to insecure wordsmiths like myself...


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